Doctors, Detectives and Demons
by Shipsinthenight13
Summary: SUPERWHOLOCK: After receiving a vague message from a mysterious person, Amy, Rory, Eleven, Sherlock, John, Mary, Cas, Dean and Sam are forced to join forces in order to defeat a formidable foe. But the unusual circumstances of their meeting leave them all with questions that only one person can answer. Unfortunately, the only thing they know of them is the alias 'The Professor.'
1. The Summoning

It was a cold March day in downtown London as three burly Americans stepped into a dusty parking garage. The tallest of the three, a well built thirty-something-year-old man with long chestnut hair by the name of Sam Winchester, dug around in his pocket for an old set of keys.

The other two men, Sam's brother Dean and their friend Cas, continued to walk to the car. It was nearly midnight and the foggy lights were not sufficient enough to let anyone see more than three feet in front of them. So Sam, Dean and Cas stumbled their way through the dark, until Dean finally remembered the flashlight on his phone and used it to light the way.

"So?" Cas asked as they drew nearer. "What did you find?"

"Nothing." Dean spat, crossing his arms over his flannel shirt and leather jacket. "Absolutely nothing. These British twerps don't know a thing about the disappearances. We come all the way to London just to be told to turn around!" He shook his head, controlling his temper. "Anyway, how'd it go on your end?"

"The same," Cas sighed. It had been a long day for all three of them. The had spent the day in all corners of London searching for clues on the vanishings. Everyone seemed to someone who had been taken, but no one new how, why or what. All in all it had been an exhausting waste of twenty-four hours.

"Hey Sammy," Dean called back to his brother, who had finally found the unruly set of keys. "Where did we park?"

Sam shrugged. "I dunno. In the back somewhere?"

Dean laughed, "Big help you are. Almost as much as these Brits."

Sam rolled his eyes and was about to respond, but Cas cut him off. "I found it. It's over here-" Cas stopped abruptly.

"What is it? Sam asked, jogging over to where Cas was. His eyes swept over the car and he too fell silent.

Dean look at the two suspiciously. Carefully, he trotted over to where Sam and Cas stood. He stared at the car with a mixture of disgust and anger. This was his car! His baby! He'd grown up in it, learned to drive in it. His dad had bought 1973, and it had become a family heirloom. It was the Winchester family's 1967 Chevy Impala. It was a symbol, a totem. Yet here it stood, completely vandalized. `

The hood was covered in white spray paint, forming the words Bad Wolf. On the left side someone had sloppily etched the letter into the side, scraping away the black paint and exposing the gray metal.

Sam cursed under his breath, equally as upset as Dean. "This is ridiculous. How are we gonna get it fixed! We're aren't even in America."  
"I thought British people were supposed to be posh, not vandalizing assholes." Dean sneered, crossing his arms angrily.

"It looks like whoever did this left a note." Cas stated, pulling out a folded yellow slip of paper on the windshield.

Cas unfolded it carefully making sure not to crease any of the edges.

"What is it?" Dean asked, looking over Cas's shoulder.

"Advertisement." Cas responded, showing it to him. "For Barney's Pub and Grill. There's a date on it too. Tomorrow at 8:30."

Sam looked at Cas and Dean nervously. "Should we go?"

Dean gave him a weary glance. "Do we have a choice?"

Meanwhile, the next morning on the other side of London, three people piled into a too-small cab.

On the right Mary Watson, a middle aged woman with short blonde hair and a tired smile, held a smartphone close to her ear. "And her diaper stash is in the upstairs closet if you run out. Oh and all the drawers and cabinets are childproofed so all you have to do is push down on the little tab." She paused. "Alright, yes I know. She'll need a nap after lunch. And she likes Sesame Street, so put it on if she starts to cry. I'll try to be home by three." Mary paused again. "Oh, you're a saint! Tell Rosie her mummy loves her. Bye."

"New babysitter?" The man on the left, Sherlock Holmes, inquired.

In the middle John Watson, Sherlock's best friend and Mary's husband shifted uncomfortably. "No, just Molly."

Mary tapped the screen of her phone nervously. "Her daycare isn't on the weekends, and I needed to get out and it's Molly's off day so I thought it would be fine. I mean, Molly is one of her godparents so it should be fine." Mary seemed to be saying more for her sake then for Sherlock or John's.

John smiled, shaking his head. "It'll be fine, Mary. We'll just take a quick stop at 221b and then it's date day."

Mary smiled and kissed him lightly on the nose. Sherlock rolled his eyes and shifted to look out the window, uninterested in this two best friend's relationship. "Well while you two do that, I'll be busy trying to solve these insufferable disappearances."

Mary smirked, "We might be able to spare a little time to help out…"

"No, no, absolutely not." John interrupted, "It's date day. I'm not wasting that to go work on a case!"

Sherlock muttered something unintelligent under his breath and continued looking out the window, racking his brain for what could possibly be causing the disappearances. They occurred in an impossibly fast amount of time, in a number of different locations with a vast array of people. There were no connections and a lot of the takings seemed outright impossible.

Sherlock was pondering a culpert such as a murderous track runner on steroids as the cab pulled up in front of his flat, 221b Baker Street.

The three friends got out of the car walked up to Sherlock's apartment. The three paused in front of the door, staring at it in shocked silence.

"What the hell…" John trailed off, bewildered. Sherlock and John had many enemies, but none of them had ever vandalized their door in such an odd and unusual way. On the bottom, to the left the word Croatan had been scraped in, exposing the chipped wood. Near the knocker a peeling poster with the black block letters Vote Saxon was stapled.

"Saxon?" John asked, his hand dancing on the edge of the flyer. "That's the crazy guy from 07? The guy who was Prime Minister for a day before going insane?"

"Yeah," Mary responded, tilting her head to the side. "I'd forgotten about that. Didn't he claim that aliens had made him their master of something?"

Sherlock nodded slowly, kneeling down to look at the Croatoan. "The lost colony." He murmured, squinting. His hand ran along the word, taking it in.

"Sorry?" John asked, leaning forward slightly.

"The Croatoan Legend of Roanoke." Sherlock responded, "In 1587, the English tried to set up a colony on Roanoke Island, now on the coast of North Carolina in the US. The Governor, John White, left Roanoke in December 1587 to head back to England. He returned in 1590 to find the whole town deserted. His men could not find any trace of the 200 settlers he had left behind, nor was there any sign of a struggle or battle. The cabins had been taken down, the livestock had vanished and of the trace was a message carved into a post. 'Croatoan.'"

"You are like a walking encyclopedia." Mary remarked, shaking her head.

John bit his lip. "So, um, why is the name of an crazy Prime Minister and some ghost story carved into our door?"  
"Because of that." Said Mary as she stepped closer to the door. In the mail slot was a yellow flyer, stuck halfway through. Mary pulled it out slowly and read it tensely. "It's an invitation. To Barney's Pub and Grill. Tonight at 8:30."

The three people ran through the crowded square, pushing past hundreds of people having afternoons snacks and complaining about the lousy weather. Finally, after they had been sufficiently lost in the crowd they pulled to a stop, all three of them needing to catch their breaths.

"That was a narrow one," huffed Amy Williams, playing with a strand of her long red hair. She was perched against a brick wall, her usually beautiful face drooping from a lack of sleep and dripping with sweat.

Her best friend, The Doctor, got up from his hunched over position and started waggling a long pointer finger in her face, "You listen here, Amelia Pond." He started, calling her by her maiden name, "That was the most stupid, irresponsible, humany thing I've ever seen you do. Don't you ever scare me like that again!" He frowned intently and the two seemed to have a stare down. That was, until, both of there angered expressions melted away and they burst our laughing.

"Did you see his face?" Amy giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

Her husband, Rory Williams, joined in on the laughter, "I wish I'd taken a picture!"

"I still can't believe we pulled it off," The Doctor sighed, almost as an afterthought.

The Williams continued to laugh, nearly wheezing by the time they were done. Amy got up and wrapped her arm around The Doctor. "Come on, Spaceman." She grinned, "Take me home."

"Uh, me too, if you don't mind." Rory cut in.

"Alright, Ponds." The Doctor murmured, "Back to Leadworth we go."

"Rory?" Amy asked, starting to dust herself off. "Do you remember where we parked?"

"Why's that always my job?" Rory groaned.

Amy smirked and gave him a small kiss on the cheek, "'Cause you're the newest."

Rory mumbled something unkind under his breath and checked his phone. "A couple blocks from here, I think. We can walk easily."

"Great!" Amy smiled. SHe grabbed Rory's phone out of his hands and started following the directions on the phone, not waiting for the others to catch up to her.

The three walked to their vehicle in silence, simply enjoying the fog and haze and commotion of an afternoon in downtown London. Amy felt her fingers intertwine with Rory's and she beamed. She loved her life, her adventures, her boys. Nobody she knew would ever experience anything close to her life. Or at least, her life when she was with the Doctor.

When Amy Williams walked down the street, she did it with a sense of pride, knowing she had knowledge beyond anyone else on the planet. She had tasted things that had never touched Earth, heard languages lond dead, seen sights that wouldn't arise for millions of years. It was all so intense and special and different and exciting and amazing. This is her life. Sometimes she couldn't even believe it.

"It's just past here." She said, rounding a sharp corner. A low feeling had started in her stomach. As much as she loved being with The Doctor, she knew it always had to end. Nothing gold could stay.

"Cheer up, Amy." The Doctor smirked. "There's always tomorrow."

Amy smiled quickly. Never let him see your pain. She patted his arm and marched forward. The edge of the TARDIS appeared in her view. She let out a happy sigh, only to be met with a large gasp.

"Every time," The Doctor mumbled under his breath. "Graffiti. I'm so tired of graffiti! Always graffiti."

"What does it even mean?" Rory asked, tilting his head. On the front, in bright yellow spray paint, the words I Believe in Sherlock Holmes were written. On the side, in red, was a symbol that looked like a star, in a circle with flame like drawings. It looked cult-like and unsettling. And odd. Why these things? Who was Sherlock Holmes? What was that symbol? Why was it on the side of the TARDIS?

"This might have something to do with it." The Doctor said, pulling out a yellow flyer from between the handlebars. Amy and Rory peered over his shoulders. The flyer was for Barney's Pub and Grill. In small red handwriting was that day's date and a time. 8:30.

"That's in a couple hours." Rory stated, looking up.

"Should we go?" Amy asked.

"Oh come on," The Doctor laughed, "Today is a glorious day for a mysterious summons. Come along, Ponds." He handed the paper to Amy and started to open the door of the TARDIS.

"Wait!" Amy called, stopping him. They were in London! Even with a mysterious summons, it was a nice day and there was a festival going on in half an hour. It would be nice to spend time to enjoy it. "Let's take the long way around."


	2. The Meeting

The sun had long set over the buildings in London when Amy, Rory and The Doctor walked into Barney's Pub and Grill.

"How were we supposed to know where to sit?" Rory asked, playing with his hoodie.

Amy took his arm and laughed, "Rory dear, you don't ask _logical_ questions with you're with The Doctor." He gave me a quizzical look. Amy pecked his cheek and sighed, "You've been at this for long enough. You should just get used to the idea that most things tend to work out."

The Doctor licked his lip and looked around anxiously, "Well at least it's a public place. That's a good sign. Nothing to violent can happen here.

Amy nodded her head in agreement.

After another few moments of awkward silence, Rory spoke. "Should we get something to eat or-"

"Doctor!" A weary voice called. To our left, a tired waitress stood clutching a throng of menus. Her face was worn from too many late night shifts and her clothes stuck with desperation. A messy blond ponytail sat at the back of her head, the elastic ring that held it together barely surviving. Her mouth was slightly upturned as she saw us, her eyes gleaming with an exhausted hope. "Are you the Doctor?"

"Yesssss…" The Doctor responded, looking around suspiciously.

"Good." She smiled, relieved, "They said that there would be a doctor in a bow tie with a ginger and another guy. The others from your party are already here."

"Our… party?" Amy asked, giving the waitress a quizzical look.

"This way." The waitress said, ignoring the question. The waitress led the trio behind rows of tables and booths until they finally reached a room in the back that was walled in and unable to be seen except for a small window in the door.

"So much for public place," The Doctor whispered in Amy's ear.

Amy nodded slightly, just as the waitress opened the door to reveal three people already sitting. There was a tall man with unruly cheek bones, curly brown hair and an obnoxious coat. Next to him was a slightly older man with graying hair, kind eyes and a tired face. To his right sat a equally tired woman with blonde hair, high cheekbones and a cellphone in hand.

The waitress gestured for the trio to sit down and they did so solemnly, all eyes on the men and woman in front of them.

"Right," The waitress murmured, guessing at the tension. "I guess I'll leave you to it. The other three members of your party will be arriving shortly, along with the meal you pre ordered. The chef is already prepared it."

She gave one last blank stare at the grim faces sitting around her and turned to leave, acting as though she couldn't get out the room fast enough.

Once she had sufficiently closed the door behind her, all eyes turned to the Doctor. Amy bit her lip, knowing the questions that were to come.

"Who are you?" The blonde woman asked.

"Why did you call for us?" The one with the kind eyes questioned.

"Why are you here?" The curly haired one inquired.

"Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah," Rory grunted, putting up his hands defensively. "We didn't do _anything_."

Kind Eyes and Blondy turned to Curly, there eyes full of questions.

"No," Curly murmured, almost to himself, "No you didn't." He paused for a moment, eyes flying over Rory, Amy and the Doctor's bodies. Amy's brow furrowed and she pulled her arms closer to herself. It was weird, the way he was watching them. It was like he could see straight through them, but not judgingly. Not in an artificial way at least. He was simply taking note of who they were and what they were doing.

It was obvious enough that he was having an easy time sizing up Amy and Rory, is eyes passing every angle like he was making sure things were in order. When his glance turned to the Doctor it was full of confusion and hesitation. You could practically see the questions forming in his brain. Yet Curly remained ever silent.

Seconds felt like hours as Curly turned away from the trio and let his hands fumble into his pocket. For Amy, it felt like the instant right before you were about to figure out if you passed or failed an important test, the moment before you learned if you hand cancer or not, the second before you discovered if someone on the verge of death was still breathing.

At long last, Curly pulled something out of his pocket. It was a yellow piece of paper identical Amy's.

"Please answer honestly, because I will know if you don't," Curly stated. "Did you receive a paper similar to this?" In his hand was a crumpled flyer for Barney's Pub and Grill with a familiar note written at the top. It was identical to the one in Amy's pocket.

Quickly she dug it out, her fingernails scraping the red handwriting. "Here."

Curly breathed heavily, reaching for it.

Suddenly the door slammed open, revealing the same waitress and three burly men. One had on a green jacket, with layer after layer of clothes on underneath. He was handsome though, in a rough and tumble soldiery way. He had light freckles, classy hair and an ever present, effortless smirk.

To be honest, all three men were rather good looking. The second, next to Freckles, had brown hair that went on slightly passed his ears and was dressed pretty similarly. Except for his larger abundance of flannel. The third man was the true odd man out. Clearly the oldest of the three, he hand on a beige trench coat and blue tie. Bright blue eyes popped out of his asymmetrical face and his expression seemed perpetually confused.

The waitress, once again, was eager to leave.

"I'll leave you to it!" She called hastily before closing the door behind her.

The three men stared at us silently before Freckles pulled out a matching piece of yellow paper from his pocket. "You to, eh?" He was an American.

Sherlock eyed the three cautiously before snatching the papers out of Freckles and Amy's hand.

"There written by the same person, that's obvious." Curly mused, mulling over the pages in his hand. After a moment he set them down on table. I glanced at Trenchcoat, Flannel and Freckles. Were we just not gonna say anything about their entrance? Who were they anyway? What the hell was going on here?

"All at different times," Curly continued. "There are some minor differences that prove that. I can't tell much from the hand writing, but it's pretty obvious that the writer was female. She doesn't do a lot of writing either, from the look of it, but it's clear she spends a lot of time typing. The letters aren't rushed, so the woman was probably planning this out. It wasn't a spur of the moment thing.

"Who are you?" Asked Flannel, his American accent thick and murky. "How do you know all that?"

"He's a detective." Kind Eyes sighed. Amy got the feeling that this wasn't the first time he'd had to explain what Curly could do.

Curly turned to Flannel, pulling his face into a false, wide smile. "The names Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

Flannel shook his head, "Sorry Pal. I'm not that into British crime solving."

"Wait!" Rory exclaimed. "You're Sherlock Holmes?"

Curly, or Sherlock rather, threw Flannel a snide look. "You see-"

"No, no it's not that," Rory cut him off, "It's just, when we found the note, there were some… messages." Rory paused, looking around nervously.

"Go on." Blondy edged him on kindly.

"There were two of them. One was this weird Satanic symbol thing, I'm not really sure what it was." Amy watched as the Americans shared a worried glance, yet silent. Her eyes narrowed as she turned back to Rory's story. "But the other, it was in yellow and, well, it said-"

"Spit it out." Kind Eyes murmured under his breath.'

"Ssh, John." Sherlock gave Kind Eyes- er, John- a little nudge with his elbow. Amy could see Rory sweating slightly. Rory always got nervous when everyone was asking his about something. Well at least when it came to talking. The rest of the time he was pretty cool under pressure. It was just talking that made Rory start tripping over his words.

"It said _I Believe In Sherlock Holmes_. Do you know what that means?" Rory rubbed his hands together nervously.

"Do you have picture?" Breathed Sherlock.

Rory shook his head.

"Wait!" Amy cut in, "I do." She pulled out her phone and swiped a couple times until it displayed a close up picture of the _I Believe In Sherlock Holmes_. Amy looked at John and Sherlock expectantly, hoping for some sort of explanation.

John bit his lip, "It was something surfing on the internet a couple years ago, in relation to Sherlock." Amy could tell he was hiding something. She made a mental note to google it later. "But why would it be wherever you found the note?"

"Maybe it was an attempt to grab our attention," Flannel shrugged, "And connect us in some way. Can I, um, see the picture of the Satan symbol. I'm Sam, by the way. That's my brother Dean and our friend Cas." He pointed toward Freckles first and then Trenchcoat.

"I'm Amy." Amy smiled, swiping on her phone.

"Mary," Blondy volunteered, "And that's my husband John."

"I'm Rory." Rory said nervously, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That leaves me," The Doctor smirked, "People usually call me the Doctor."

"Here it is!" Amy cried, shoving her phone in Sam's face.

He stared at the odd pentagram with the flame around it and glanced suspiciously at Dean. Slowly he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a tattoo.

It was the same symbol.

Sam buttoned his shirt back up and glanced around self consciously, "That's not all. There was also two symbols where we found our note."

"What were they?" The Doctor smirked, looking intrigued.

"One was etched into the car, it said _I O U_. Next to that, _Bad Wolf_ was graffitied onto the hood."

The Doctor and Sherlock's face fell slack in almost perfect unison. Amy looked at the Doctor, confused. Neither phrase rung a bell, so why did he look so confused. Then again… the Doctor had more secrets that I could count.

Dean smirked, "I guess you recognize them."

"Yes," The Doctor's brow was furrowed, "But the real question is why you know what it is. I mean… to know about Bad Wolf…who could have written that?" He trailed off.

"What about you?" Rory asked Sherlock, "Were there any messages with you?"

Mary nodded, "The word _Croatoan_ and a poster for ' _Vote Saxon_.'"

Again, Amy was confused. But she could see from the Doctor's expression that he recognized at least one of them.

"So what does it mean?" Rory questioned.

"Your meal's here!" A peppy voice called, opening the door. He brought in a whole chicken. Cooked, of course, but a whole chicken. "This is our specialty here." The server nodded cheerfully and set down a pile of plates. "Bon Appétit!"

We all stare at the chicken for a few painful moments before Dean finally spoke.

"So… should we eat it?"

Eight eyes turned to stare at him quizzically.

"Are you crazy, mate?" John asked, "It could be poisoned or, drugged or anything, honestly!"

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver.

"What's that?" Mary inquired.

"Sssh." He smiled and turned the screwdriver on. It buzzed slightly and the Doctor looked up to stare at the other members in the room, his eyes confused.

"There's something inside."


End file.
